


It seemed like it'd be fun

by Aicnerys



Series: AU shenanigans [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bittersweet Ending, Demon Deals, Forced Cohabitation, M/M, Melkor's daddy issues, Whump, mairon's inherent sadomasochistic tendencies, non consensual licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22148404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aicnerys/pseuds/Aicnerys
Summary: Mairon Aulendil works the night shift, which means a long drive at the weird hours of night, when the safety of reason and civilization wears thin. He's got rules for the drive, of course, but those are for ghosts and lesser creatures.Not demons.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: AU shenanigans [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600951
Comments: 50
Kudos: 125





	1. Passenger

Mairon works night shift because it pays well. It isn’t terribly difficult, and keeps a roof over his head, his bills paid, his car in order, and keeps him in gas enough to get to it.

However, it’s also a long commute and freaky drive.

The trees peak at the side of the road, as though only a single mistake would let the things that skitter and flit among them surge onto the road, from the wildness of the woods across the dividing line of civilization, onto the road.

In the five years that Mairon has been at this job, he’s made himself some rules, just in case.

Rule one: There are no other cars on the road.

Rule two: Don’t check the interior of the car.

Rule three: The volume should be down.

Rule four: The hitchhikers always leave before he gets home

Addendum to rule four, courtesy of his coworker and friend, Thuringwethil: Don’t acknowledge the hitchhikers. 

It’s Friday, he can sleep in tomorrow, laze about, have time to knit, maybe even finish that lace wedding shawl for Thuringwethil, who’ll be happily married to Ilmare, love of her life, in a month.

As he’s about an hour from home, Mairon notices him.

The passenger seems to be a man, pale, with dark hair.

He keeps his eyes on the road, and continues driving.

Mairon hears a rather amused chuckle from the back seat. He ignores it.

The hitchhikers leave before he gets home if he ignores them, that’s the rule. This has happened to him before, he knows the drill.

He keeps driving, because he’s close to home and he hasn’t acknowledged the thing. Nevertheless, the trees on the roadside seem delighted, and the soft murmur of his favourite music seems louder, as if the world is quieter.

He thinks he sees his passenger grin, showing a mouth full of too many pointy, pointy teeth.

Mairon chalks it up to his mind playing tricks on him.

He just wants to go home.

  
  


~~~

  
  


When he pulls into his driveway, the back seat is empty. His passenger is gone, and Mairon sighs in relief.

He lets himself back home, relieved to be back and ready to catch up on some sleep. As he locks the door, he hears someone clear their throat behind him.

Mairon whips around with a gasp, as the passenger, only a few steps behind him, leans in closely.

His eyes are pale, pale, pale, like ice on a lake, faintly, blue, and pupil-less. Mairon shrieks, and slams into the door, starts fumbling with the handle that won’t turn.

He’s dragged back.

“Well, well, how terribly rude of you.” The passenger coos. 

Mairon twists out of the passenger’s grasp and runs to the back door to try and get away from the thing that came home with him, but that door won’t budge either.

Quietly, he starts praying.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.”

He went to Catholic school as a boy for several years, but the Hail Mary is the only prayer he can remember.

The creature advances slowly, each step a distinct click on the floor.

“Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.”

It seems so, so amused.

“Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for our sinners, now and in the hour of our death…”

It kneels before him, places a hand on his shoulder, and shushes him, placing a frigid finger over his lips.

“Oh, little one, if only you had faith, then maybe that would have bought you time.” The passenger purrs. 

“But you don’t.”

The passenger picked Mairon up gently, Mairon too scared to do anything about it, and gently kissed his brow.

As Mairon falls asleep, he hears the passenger speak.

“Oh, this’ll be great fun.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


Mairon wakes up in bed, warm, cozy, a bit of golden sunlight draped across his eyes, prompting him to snuggle into bed earlier.

He’s so warm and cozy and deliciously half-awake, that he doesn’t quite register that there’s someone else in bed with him, their face pressed into his hair, their arms around his waist, their legs entangled with his, until they speak.

“Good morning, Fairest.”

It’s the thing from last night.

Mairon is awake instantly, frightened into stillness.

“Oh, how regrettable. You’re all scared now. I rather liked you all snuggly and sweet.” The creature mused, its voice rich and deep and pooling all over him like ice, pleasant but unpleasant at the same time.

“What do you want with me?” Mairon says, finally finding his voice. “And what the hell are you?” 

The creature laughs.

“Tell me your name first, Fairest.” 

“You first.”

Mairon gets pulled closer to it, and the creature buries its face in his neck now. It might be smelling him.

Actually, scratch that, it is smelling him, he can feel its breath.

“Would you not, please?” Mairon snaps.

“Only if you tell me your name, your full name.”

“Jesus, fine, but only if you’ll tell me yours first.”

He thinks he can feel it smiling.

“Of course, it’s a deal, even.”

Mairon doesn’t like the way the creature purrs on the word ‘deal’.

“I am Morgoth Bauglir, once Melkor, the Black Foe of the world.”

Mairon realizes that there’s a demon holding now, and that he made a deal with it. He’s compelled to answer, regardless.

“My name is Mairon Aulendil.”

He feels like some part of himself is no longer his anymore.

“What a lovely name.” Morgoth croons. “I’ll have great fun with you, Fairest.”


	2. morning

Of course, Mairon tries to run.

‘Tries’ being the verb, in this situation.

“ _ Stay _ .” The demon murmurs, and Mairon feels himself go all loose and relaxed.

“So you can assault me?” Mairon hisses.

“No, so I can continue to cuddle you.” Morgoth says, affronted. “Maybe later though. Depends on my mood.”

“Oh, how wonderful.” Mairon sneers, voice dripping venom. “I have plans for my weekend, you dick.”

“Whatever.” Morgoth says dismissively.

~~~

  
  


It takes thirty more minutes for the demon to be satisfied and let Mairon go.

“A wedding shawl? How quaint.” Morgoth hums, lounging quite lazily in Mairon’s bed. Now, with the morning light to illuminate things, Mairon can properly see the demon.

He looks pretty much like a man. He’s got long, dark hair, pupil-less eyes so pale they’re almost white, save for the fact that they glow in an unearthly manner in its face. The demon has three scars across his face. 

No horns, no fiery brimstone, no wings, no goat feet. Unfortunately, he’s quite naked. Mairon angrily gets dressed, mentally glaring at the demon. 

“Was stripping me in my sleep really necessary?” Mairon asks sharply, braiding his hair.

“Of course it was.” Morgoth says lazily. The demon waves his hand and Mairon’s hair straight up unbraids itself. 

Mairon glares and fixes his hair.

Morgoth tsks and unbraids it again.

“ _ Leave it down. _ ”

If looks could kill, Morgoth would be dead.

“Oh, and just so you know, knowing my name doesn’t help you, because  _ you can’t say it in full. _ ” Morgoth says casually. “Which is the only way a human can command a demon as powerful as I.”

Mairon snatches up his knitting and heads to the living room.

Morgoth is there, of course, clothed now in all black because of course he is, but he’s taken over the entire couch.

Mairon sighs rather forcefully.

“Get up.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Mairon sets his knitting on Morgoth’s legs and lifts Morgoth halfway up, then sits down, dropping Morgoth into his lap with great disgust.

The demon looks inordinately pleased with himself.

Then Mairon sticks an entire pi shawl over his face and starts knitting, completely ignoring the demon occupying his lap, because he’s got work to do, damn it.

Morgoth turns to lay on his side and sticks his face into Mairon’s stomach, seriously tempting Mairon to try and roll him off the couch.

Mairon is about thirty rounds or so in when he gets hungry, and Morgoth decides he wants to hug.

So now he’s got a demon in his lap wrapping arms around his waist, a wedding shawl that needs to be finished, and a distinct lack of food.

Mairon sets the shawl aside and attempts to stand.

Apparently, Morgoth is not okay with that, because he’s now too heavy for Mairon to stand, even though Mairon could lift him easily enough earlier.

Morgoth’s arms tighten around him.

“No.” The demon says petulantly.

“I’m trying to fix myself lunch, you asshole.” Mairon replies, attempting to unlatch him.

Mairon’s hair is in his face and he hates that. He wishes it was braided, like it usually was. He had to repeatedly pull his own hair out of his knitting and he hated it.

“You’ll be fine.” The demon mumbles.

“I need to eat or I’ll eventually die you dumbass.” Mairon replies. “Unlatch, limpet!”

The demon instead drags Mairon down and wraps around him.

“No, you’re too spirited. You can eat later.”

“When, exactly, is later?”

“When I say so.  _ Sleep a little now. _ ”

  
  


~~~

  
  


Mairon wakes up in the demon’s arms again, still on the couch, with no sunlight anywhere to be seen, despite the fact that his living room has windows.

Everything is shrouded in unnatural darkness.

Mairon is scared; it’s too dark to see anything.

He twists around to face the demon. Morgoth’s eyes are the only light in the darkness.

“I took the liberty of sprucing up the place.” Morgoth said cheerfully. Despite the beacon-like nature of his eyes, Mairon can’t see the demon’s face.

Mairon squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face in his hands. Morgoth pulls him closer, a hand coming to cradle his head. He thinks he’s beginning to cry, a combination of hunger and the sudden darkness and the demon’s eyes.

Morgoth humms happily, and anger burns in Mairon at that.

“Of course you’re a fucking sadist.” Mairon snaps, his voice deafening in the muffling black.

Morgoth laughs.

“Of course I am. Do you not like the dark?” Morgoth asks, his tone a mockery of concern. “ _ Let me see your hands. _ ”

Mairon feels his hands move, and Morgoth takes them.

He flinches when Morgoth’s tongue runs across them, lapping at the wetness from tears. Mairon doesn’t like it, not at all, not at all. He tries to withdraw his hands, only for Morgoth place teeth on his neck.

Morgoth’s cold breath on his neck and the sensitive skin their makes him flinch, causing Morgoth’s sharp teeth to draw blood.

The demon licks it.

“Warm, somewhat spiced. How lovely.” Morgoth notes. “I want more.”

He bites Mairon again, this time on purpose, teeth sinking far deeper. Mairon shrieks, the demon’s tongue laving over the wounds he made.

When Morgoth licks at the tears on Mairon’s face, Mairon can only assume it is because he is no longer bleeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mairon: *exists*  
> Morgoth: *licks*
> 
> A round is a knitting term for row when something is being knit in the round (ie, as one piece)


	3. choices

Morgoth picks Mairon up again and starts to carry him somewhere. Even if Mairon’s eyes were open, he doesn’t think he’d be able to tell where Morgoth was taking him.

“See, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen a human as pretty and fair as you.” Morgoth says, running a hand through Mairon’s hair. “You’re the prettiest human I’ve seen, and I’ve seen all the supposed beauties. Xishi, Cleopatra, Helen of Troy, Guinevere, none compare to you. When they behold you, the fish sink, the birds fall, the moon hides, the flowers wilt.”

If Morgoth wasn’t a demon who bit him and licked his tears and screwed with his house, Mairon would be flattered. As it stands, Morgoth is a demon who bit him, licked his tears, and screwed with his house.

Mairon is not flattered, he is scared.

And Morgoth has been walking and walking and walking and Mairon’s house is tiny.

Mairon dares to open his eyes. Morgoth is looking down at him, and everything is dark. It’s basically like there’s two glowing eyes in a field of darkness and Mairon hates it. He can feel chill air, colder than he usually keeps his home, and he can feel Melkor’s cold arms around him. He can hear Melkor’s footsteps softly on the floor, and he can hear his own breathing.

But he can’t see anything but the demon’s eyes.

Mairon has always been one for pursuits that involve vision. He reads anything and everything he can get his hands on, he drew and scribbled about as a kid, and his preferred stress relief once he got his license before he took up knitting, which, funny enough, also required vision, was driving a massive loop on the deserted country highways near Memphis, where he grew up. 

Incidentally, he still lived in the family home about a two hour drive from Memphis, on land that his siblings had sold most of once their parents had died. Mairon took the house and the acre of land it sat on and his siblings divided up the rest of the fifteen acres.

His parents were interred in the cemetery with generations of family stretching past the Civil War. He knows he’ll be the last in the family to be buried there, his siblings having scattered to the four corners of the earth. Blood that’s been there since the seventeen-seventies gone. He’s not sure how he feels about that.

Morgoth comes to a stop and Mairon is set down on what he presumes is a bed. He’s pretty sure it isn’t his bed though, as his bed is smaller than what he’s been put on. 

He feels the dip in the mattress as Morgoth settles over him, sees the demon’s bright eyes. Mairon feels tears start to wind their way down, dripping into his ears.

He sniffles. 

He’s shaking, in that tremolo terror sort of way.

The demon wipes away Mairon’s tears gently with his thumbs, then soothes over his forehead, tucking short wisps of hair behind his ears.

Then, Morgoth presses a surprisingly tender and chaste kiss to Mairon’s forehead. Mairon slowly stops shaking.

Morgoth settles down completely atop Mairon, burying Mairon under his weight. He kisses Mairon’s neck, licks over his earlier bite.

“The best and worst thing about mortals is that they age and die. On one hand, the peculiar mania that demands eternity leads to such delightful atrocities, but on the other hand, such pretty things like you wither and fade.”

Morgoth kisses his cheek, cradles his head. Mairon realizes that he’d closed his eyes at some point.

“ _ Look at me, Fairest. _ ”

Mairon’s eyes open to meet Morgoth’s.

The demon’s eyes are but a few inches from his face. Mairon gasps, softly, a little sort of gasp as it were.

He can tell that Morgoth is smiling because his eyes curve up.

“ _ Did you prefer it when I wasn’t stalking you home, when I was just holding you? _ ” Morgoth asked.

Mairon nodded.   
  


“Ah, but you’re too precious and I too set in my ways for me to be satisfied with only that.” Morgoth mused. “But don’t worry. All your suffering will add to my pleasure.”

“And what happens when I no longer amuse you?” Mairon asks.

Morgoth laughs.

“Oh, my precious, you won’t ever.” 

The demon’s assurance sends shivers down Mairon’s spine.

Mairon’s pretty sure he officially damned now.

“But if I do?” Mairon presses. Morgoth kisses him on the cheek.

“I suppose I’d just get rid of you. There are plenty of places in the inferno to land. I suppose it’d be quite fun to see where you’d land, what sins will make your punishment.”

Mairon’s breaths are all shaky now.

He is so, so damned.

Something is pressed against his mouth.

“ _ Lick. _ ” Morgoth commands, and Mairon is suddenly afraid that the demon will make good on his earlier threat of rape.

But of course, Mairon’s mouth isn’t under his control, and he tastes blood.

Then, he feels something wet drip across his face, his eyes snapping shut on instinct. It’s probably blood.

The demon seems quite pleased with himself, and flops down onto the bed. He pulls Mairon close and licks his face dry.

“What is it with you and licking?” Mairon asks.

“In my experience, people find it invasive.” Morgoth answers. “And when I’m being invasive, it’s all or nothing.”

Mairon shudders at the thought of having the demon keep on licking him.

“That is disgusting. You are disgusting.” Mairon tells him.

“You think so? I’m flattered.” Morgoth purrs. “You really are the fairest.”

Mairon suddenly feels quite dirty at the thought that this asshole has touched all over him.

“I want to take a shower. Alone.” Mairon says.

“I’ll consider it.” Morgoth replies indifferently.

“What do you mean ‘you’ll consider it’?” Mairon snarls. “I still haven’t eaten since you wouldn’t let me go, and now you’re saying that can’t take a goddamned shower? What’re you going to say next, I need your leave to think?”

“Oh, I’d never say that, that’d be boring.” Morgoth says. “There’d be no fun in that.”

“Well, my complaints eating and bathing still stand.” 

“Be fair to me, precious, I’ve only quibbled about you taking a shower alone.”   
  


“Wonderful. I’m going to assume that means you want me to let you, the demon that came home with me without my consent, to take a shower with me. That’s just so much better.”

“And that last sentence was sarcasm. Not that that’ll stop you.” Mairon added with great venom.

“You’re right, precious. It won’t. But I’ll make a deal with you: let me clean and feed you, and you’ll get to be clean and fed.”

“And you’ll want to hold the glass I drink from too, I suppose.”

“Of course.”

Mairon would weigh his options, but he wasn’t sure he had any.

“How many times?” Mairon asked.

Morgoth chuckled.

“Once.”

“And the times after that?”

“Negotiable.”

“So, when you say negotiable, do you really mean that you’ll attempt to force me to make this deal repeatedly to wear away at my spirit?”

“Oh, how revealed do I feel!” Morgoth exclaimed. 

“I’d rather not seal this particular deal.” Mairon told him.

“I won’t let you eat, drink, or bathe if you don’t.” 

“I’ll just die then.”

“I won’t let you.”

“Really?” Mairon’s voice was just dripping skepticism.

“When you’re weak as a kitten, you won’t have a choice.”

“So I can choose to accept your deal now, or have the aforementioned things in your deal done to me anyway, but at a later date. There’s no point to it if that’s it.”

“Taking my deal will be more comfortable though. Hold on to your autonomy and suffer, or let me hold it for a bit and be comfortable.”

Mairon is sure that if he could see Morgoth’s smile, it would be predatory and confident.

“So tell me, my precious, do you want comfort or control?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melkor's bit about the fish sinking, the birds falling, the moon hiding, and the flowers wilting is an actual chengyu (chinese idiom), based of the four beauties, one of whom is XiShi, who was so pretty that when the fish saw her, they forgot how to swim and sunk.


	4. rejection

“No, I’d rather be uncomfortable but in control.” Mairon replied. Morgoth didn’t fly into a rage at being denied, but simply started toying with Mairon’s hair.

“Your rejection is just the sweetest, my precious.” Morgoth smiled.

And then the room lightened and Mairon knew for sure that Morgoth’s ‘redecorating’ had been a titch more than just redecorating.

For starters, it didn’t even look like his home, being that he was in an impossibly large bedroom. Mairon squirmed out of Melkor’s grasp and sat up to properly survey where he was.

“Do you like what I’ve done with the place?” Morgoth asked.

Mairon very much wished he could faint on command. It had stereotypical vampire gothic cathedral aesthetic going on, with a high, arching ceiling of pointed arches, elegant stained glass, and soot-stained stone. And because Morgoth is a particularly extra demon, there’s one of those sleazy sci-fi round cushion beds that somehow manages to be tasteful.

“Where’s my goddamn house?” Mairon asks.

“I expanded a bit.”

“A bit?” Mairon’s voice raises in incredulity. “How on God’s green earth is a fucking gothic cathedral ‘a bit’?”

“It’s a bit because I say it is.” Morgoth replies petulantly.

Mairon sighs. There’s no point in arguing with the demon.

“Is that what you really look like?” Mairon asks, gesturing to Morgoth vaguely.

“No, but I like it because it’s pretty.” Morgoth replied. “If you agree to my bargain, I’ll toss my true form into the mix.”

“I doubt your true form is a deal-breaker.”

“Is it?”

“Not unless it’ll kill me when I see it.”

“It might.”

Mairon’s eyes narrowed.

“I doubt it. You wouldn’t offer it otherwise, would you,  _ Morgoth _ ?”

The demon laughs.

“Oh, look at you, realizing that using my name might get you somewhere.” Morgoth smiles, revealing too many teeth. It’s not a pleasant smile.

“ _ Strip. Then come here on your knees like the animal you are. _ ”

Mairon’s body is not his own, and after he undresses, the demon waves a hand and his clothes vanish. Mairon gets the feeling that clothing is going to be another thing the demon will deny for his own petty amusement.

It makes Mairon’s skin crawl, but he’s in front of the demon now.

“ _ Stay like that until I decided otherwise. And don’t speak. _ ”

Morgoth pets him like one would pet an animal. The physical sensation of it is pleasant, but Mairon hates that he’s on all fours without a choice in the matter.

“You like your control, I think.” Morgoth muses, continuing to pet Mairon and play with his hair. “I also like your control.”

Mairon looks up at Morgoth, who smiled at him with a greedy sort of possessiveness. Mairon shudders and closes his eyes, mouth twisting.

“And because I like your control, I want it all to myself.” 

Morgoth tilts Mairon face up.

“ _ Open your eyes. Look at me. _ ”

The demon looms over him. Mairon can’t see anything but him.

“If it wouldn’t be so terribly, terribly boring, I would make you see only me.” Morgoth says. “I tried that with a human once. The little thing gave up on living and just died on me. It was a very rude thing to do.”

Morgoth pauses, then drags Mairon into his lap, tucking Mairon in under his chin, forcing Mairon to curl up, providing the demon the opportunity to wrap around Mairon, something he seems fond of doing.

“But you wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Mairon can’t answer, Morgoth’s order not to speak still present.

“Oh right, you can’t answer.”

Morgoth nuzzles Mairon, pulling Mairon into him.

“It’s not like your answer to that matters. I won’t let you run from me. You’re my precious, and what’s mine is mine, forever and ever, until the end of time.”

Morgoth’s grip tightens and he begins to list back and forth.

“I won’t lose anything ever again, and then they’ll see, they’ll all see. They scarred me and burned me and chained me and took the jewels that were mine by right, I taught that filthy wretch how to make them, they were mine!”

Morgoth is shooting star burning itself to naught but cinders and sparks and Mairon has no choice but to go with it for the ride.

“I had a crown so bright and brilliant with those jewels and they clawed it from my face and threw me screaming into the dark but I came back, I’ll always come back, and now that I have you, you’ll make it up to me. You’ll be mine, and I won’t lose you. No matter what.”

Mairon is coming to realize that he is being cradled by an unhinged demon and can’t escape.

“My hands burned for my prize, burned forever! They cut my feet to shreds, and when that wasn’t enough, they cut them off. I’ve suffered enough. But I have my precious now, a precious that can’t run from me or be stolen from me.”

Morgoth tips over sideways, taking Mairon with him and curling around Mairon even further. 

Mairon is pretty sure that Morgoth is still speaking, and that the word he repeats over and over and over again is ‘mine’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> morgoth, the deranged demon just being like 'mine, mine, mine, mine' ad infinitum and mairon there just like 'please god why im hungry and thirsty'


	5. distraction

At some point, stomach growling, throat parched, Mairon had fallen asleep, probably .

He wakes up alone in the room the Morgoth had made, a manacle on his ankle and a chain attached to a metal ring in the floor. 

Mairon pulls at it out of sheer stubbornness, but, it being metal and the ring it’s attached to being embedded in the floor, doesn’t achieve much. He inspects the manacle and finds it to be without any sort of closure, as if it was machined into shape around his ankle.

He looks around him, expecting the demon to be nearby in order to exultate in his confusion and shock or whatever the fucker wanted, Mairon wasn’t sure.

Morgoth was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

Mairon wasn’t quite sure of where the demon was. He also wasn’t quite sure when he’d last eaten neither.

But his knitting is there. Thuringwethil’s wedding shawl. Now that Morgoth had oh-so rudely barged into his life, Mairon couldn’t be sure of how he’d get it to her, but he’d made damn sure she’d get it. He may not care about himself that much, but he does care about Thuringwethil and especially cares about keeping his word, about having honor.

It was just how he was raised, nothing more to it. Be fair, keep your word, treat others right, don’t be poking your nose into someone else’s business, but don’t be afraid to give no helping hand.

Without nothing better to do, Mairon finishes up the scalloped edging of the shawl and carefully arranges it flat across the bed. The piece needs blocking, of course, to get the lace all stretched proper so’s that the pattern can be seen, but he thinks that if he offers Morgoth something sufficiently lucrative, he can convince the demon to let him finish making the shawl, give it to Thuringwethil, and make his apologies, since he expects he’ll be missing the wedding.

Which makes him sad. He don’t know Illmare too well, but Thuringwethil’s about to get hitched, and he trusts Thuringwethil when it comes to character.

Now that he’s finished up what he’s got on hand to finish up, Mairon takes notice of his headache, the way his tongue sticks to his mouth. He’d probably kill for even a sip of water at the moment, he’s so thirsty.

He’s been hungry before, on accident, at those times when he was young and didn’t want to go home, and then later when he was busy and just wasn’t paying attention. Hunger don’t bother him much until two or three days without eating nothing.

So, at the moment, Mairon would kill for water.

Not that he would be able to actually kill someone, what with him currently being a bit on the weaker side at the moment, but there’s some folks who say it’s the thought that counts.

He hears Morgoth’s arrival before he sees the demon on account of how the demon’s shoes click against the hard stone.

“Where were you?” Mairon asks.

“Did you train yourself out of your accent?” Morgoth avoids the question.

“I did. Folks don’t think so kindly of you when you sound uneducated. But sometimes I want them to be thinking I ain’t nothing backwoods trash. It depends.” Mairon replies. “Where have you been?”

“I saw you liked knitting, so I got you some yarn.”

Morgoth flings his hands out and yarn appears. Mairon gives it a quick glance. It’s the sort of stuff he never thought he’d be able to work with- high quality wools and silks and such weren’t cheap, even though a man could dream.

“That’s wonderful. I’d prefer something to drink, maybe even a bite to eat.”

“My offer still stands.” Morgoth said, sitting down next to Mairon and slinging an arm around him. “I see your shawl is off the needles. It still needs blocking and delivery though, right?”

“It does.” Mairon says warily. “I assume it’ll cost me.”

“I’m feeling generous, Fairest.” Morgoth purrs languidly. “I’ll roll it into my earlier offer. I’ll let you block your shawl. I’m feeling so generous, I’ll even give it to Thuringwethil and excuse you from ever needing to leave here again.”

“What do you mean by me not needing to leave here?”

“Fairest, I want to spoil you, keep you from ever leaving me, and that means keeping you here.”

Morgoth leans close to Mairon to whisper in his ear, his chill breath making Mairon shiver.

“Or, I could get rid of anyone who would ever think to look for you. A drunk driver careening off the road to tragically kill two newlyweds, how sad, how regrettable, how terribly, terribly common.”

Mairon’s blood ran cold. 

“I accept your deal, demon.”

Mairon feels defeated.

Thuringwethil and Illmare didn’t deserve to die, not for him.

“Oh Fairest, you’ve made an excellent decision.” Morgoth replied, delighted, shifting to cup Mairon’s face in his hands.

Mairon just sort of nods.

The demon places a hand over Mairon’s eyes.

“The annoying part about moving you about is that it doesn’t work if you can see where you’re going. It’s your house, your domain, and I can only change it when you can’t see it.” Morgoth says. “I have more control than most, given that I know your true name, but even that only goes so far.”

When the demon removes his hand, Mairon realizes that the demon had been quite serious about renovating.

Mairon sees a hot-spring, and a cave arches over him. He looks up to see a ceiling speckled with little fluorescent bits of moss and flowers. It’s ethereal, recalling some vision of paradise. 

Although the hot-spring is situated in a cave, Mairon can see the overlay of natural shaping over an artificial framework- the walls of the cave neatly create a little space around the pool, making a little walkway around the water. Mairon notes that there is a tray of meats, cheeses, and bread, as well as a teapot, little cups with saucers, milk, and sugar. There’s also toiletries and towels and whatnot on the walkway.

Mairon turns to the demon, shock writ on his face.

“How did you even…”

Morgoth smiles with a certain aura smugness.

“I’m just that incredible, Fairest. With me, you will not want for anything.”

Mairon doesn’t voice his concerns about promising things you can’t keep, and instead takes a step towards the hot spring.

He’s surprised that the chain is gone, but he suspects that that is only temporary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> overcompensating, melkor style


	6. compensation

Morgoth leads Mairon to the spring and helps him in. Mairon is annoyed, but the demon’s deal involved a surrender of control, so he doesn’t bother resisting. The hot water is blissful, warm enough that he finds himself going lax, but not so warm that he feels like he’s boiling. The water is shallow enough for him to sit down and have the water barely cover his shoulders.

The demon holds a glass to his lips, having slipped into the water without Mairon noticing. In the rippling of the water, Mairon thinks the demon’s form may have distorted, twisted, that he either lacks feet of that his feet are terribly mangled.

Mairon eyes the demon warily.

“It’s just water.” Morgoth teases.

Mairon’s only response is that of a skeptical narrowing of the eyes, but, nevertheless, he lets Melkor give him the water, drinking it greedily. He won’t deny that he is parched and that water is welcome, but neither will he deny that he is distinctly uncomfortable.

Once the glass was empty, Mairon realized that his eyes had not been deceiving him.

“Is this your true form,  _ Morgoth _ ?”

Margoth’s eyes narrow.

“Yes. Do you like it?”

He is scarred, the marks of a shackle at his neck, scars in the shapes of chain criss-crossing his body. His hands are burned, his feet, while present, are mangled. Mairon wonders if it pains him to walk, what with the extent of the damage.

“Does it matter?”

“I would find it flattering if you did.”

Mairon leans back and looks at, finding a strange, raw beauty in the little glowing bugs, with their cold, pale light.

“ _ Insecure,  _ I see.”

He can’t see what Morgoth is doing, but he can hear and little angry sort of noise, a bit like a cat that doesn’t particularly want to be pet at the moment, but isn’t angry enough to hiss or spit. It’s really a sort of ‘aggrieved meoof’ sort of noise.

Morgoth instead leans over, entering his field of vision on a rather invasive manner. He’s got a bit of cheese in his hand, and insistently pokes Mairon’s mouth with it.

“I don’t have to justify anything to you. Eat.”

Mairon raises an eyebrow, and opens his mouth like he’s doing Morgoth a favor. The demon petulantly feeds him.

It’s awkward in a very weird way, and Mairon deals with it by poking at the demon.

“What happened to your face?”

Morgoth retreats as far as possible, essentially squishing himself against the far wall.

“Come on,  _ answer me. _ What could possibly go wrong for you?” Mairon drawls. “I’m sure a high and mighty demon  _ like you  _ would just love to talk.”

Morgoth bares his teeth in a snarl.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Coward.”

Something in the demon stills, and Mairon has a split second to remember that evil, despite having taken a rather cuddly, feline mannerism, is still evil.

Morgoth practically arises in a guise of might, masking some deep insecurity, some deep flaw that made him a demon. Mairon thinks he might remember Catholic school Jesus workbook and how demons were fallen angels. Or Paradise Lost, one of the two, although one is infinitely better.

“I am not a coward!”

Teeth bared, eyes glowing, fangs mere centimeters from his face, hands digging into his shoulders, was Morgoth Bauglir, once Melkor.

He screams, seeming distraught, defensive, as though this is something true that he desperately wishes wasn’t.

Mairon makes the regrettable, poorly-thought out to poke the demon again.

“Then why are you so upset that I called you one?”

Morgoth’s grip is quite painful, now.

“Because this is lies and slander! What will you say next? That I am mad? That I am a thief, a torturer, a mistake of our oh so infallible father? You’ll be just like the rest of them, saying that I never should have been created, that I went wrong in the first moments of my existence.”

The demon’s breaths are ragged; he seems crazed, frantic.

“Like it’ s so much better to say that I was bad the first moment from my birth than to say I wasn’t made wrong, they all say the same things.”

“If god is infallible, then how could he make you wrong?”

“I don’t care.”

Mairon reaches up and cups Melkor’s cheek, tracing a thumb over a tear he’d never thought could be shed.

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m not.”

Mairon just smiles sadly at that.

“Is all this affection your way of lashing out at what you’re expected to be? You think that since you have been a coward, a thief, a torturer, since those things are what you are now expected to be, now you respond by trying to reject that. But since you perceive yourself to have been denied affection, your understanding of affection is skewed.”

Mairon raises himself up enough to place a chaste kiss on Melkor’s cheek.

“I think I have you figured out, little fallen angel, desperately seeking grace.”

Melkor pushes back at him, trying to escape, but Mairon grips his face tightly.

“I may be weak and mortal and stupid, but I am not that weak, nor mortal, nor stupid, and if you wish to have your way with me, I will try and have my way with you, because I am petty, and I am cruel, and I have grown accustomed to you now, little wayward angel, looking for love in all the wrong places.”

Melkor hisses, and Mairon lets him slink away as much as one can slink in a pool of water.

Mairon regards him with a cold, mocking gaze.

  
“I thought our deal was that you would wait on me,  _ Morgoth _ . I would hate to be disappointed now, not once you’ve clearly shown yourself more than capable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter sponsored by two lovely sponsors, the wonderful and lovely 'mairon's inherent sadomasochistic tendencies' and the equally wonderful and lovely 'melkor's daddy issues'. they were great fun to work with and i hope to deal with them again soon


	7. serve

Mairon watches Melkor expectantly, seeing the internal wheels in the demon’s mind turning in the way his eyes shifted, his fingers twitched. A baleful glare was tossed his way, and Mairon met it with a sort of condescending, honeyed smile that made the demon look away from him.

Truly, once Mairon had divined the demon’s nature, Melkor cut a pitiful figure, all pressed into himself, hiding his face.

Mairon does not care if he has wounded the demon. He sees it a retribution. He is still upset that the demon thinks his initial shock and fear would be permanent, that he would be an easy victim. Mairon is more resilient than that.

Eventually, Melkor looks him in the eye. Mairon looks back expectantly.

“Are you planning to keep me waiting till I die of old age?” Mairon asks, teasing. “Or are you just gathering up your courage?”

“Shut up.”

“Well now, I’m just checking to make sure you deliver on your deal. I ain’t trying to needle you, sweetheart.”

“Why are you doing this? I don’t want to hear it.”

“Oh honey,” Mairon begins, relishing the way Melkor flinched and glared. “You followed me home, you invaded my privacy, and now, when I take the dagger point at you, you’re upset? Darling dear, everything you do gets repaid eventually.”

Melkor hisses, baring little feline fangs.

Mairon laughs softly, warmly, prompting Melkor to hiss at him again, as if that would make his case any stronger.

Aside from amusing Mairon, it does nothing.

With a precious little growl, Melkor sulks back to Mairon, grabbing the set of soaps and oils and whatnot.

“Fine. We had a deal.” Melkor says, frowning in displeasure, as though it was he who has forced into some demonic bargain and not Mairon.

“Put your head in the water; I’m going to wash your hair.” Melkor says, without any sort of honeyed tone to recall the sensual and intimate nature of washing someone.

Mairon is more than happy to supply that, however.

“Of course.” He purrs, causing Melkor to sputter and blush, and dunks his head in the water. Melkor’s mouth is set into a tight line, and his cheeks are a vibrant shade of red most people need rouge for.

To try and save face, Melkor pours some of what Mairon would guess is shampoo onto his hands and goes to start washing Mairon’s hair, when Mairon grasps one of his wrists.

“Is it scented?” He asks, holding Melkor’s hand close enough to smell the faint scent of jasmine and woodsmoke. It strikes him as sweet and savoury, and he finds that he rather likes it, actually.

“Is it?” Melkor snaps.

Mairon looks up at him

“It was just a question, love.”

Melkor glares and tugs at his wrist. Mairon holds on for another moment before letting him go.

When Melkor actually starts washing his hair, Mairon can tell that he’s trying to be as clinical as possible, keeping Mairon at arms length and reaching over awkwardly, keeping his motions brusque and sharp.

Mairon will not be having that. It was heavily implied in his damn deal that he would get vaguely sensual bathing, and goddamnit, he wants what he paid for.

So he leans closer to Melkor, closes his eyes, lists into Melkor’s hands, enjoying the soothing feeling of another caring for him. It’s quite nice.

It takes a few moments, but Melkor’s motions do eventually soften as he becomes caught up in what he’s doing. Mairon finds it soothing, and he ends up relaxing into Melkor’s hands properly.

He does flinch when Melkor drops water on his head from surprise, but only once.

Then Morgoth grabs his shoulders and pushes him underwater.

Mairon struggles against the demon, managing to kick him hard enough that the demon’s grip loosens and flies at him, shoving the demon back.

“What the fuck was that for?”

Morgoth glares.

“I felt like it.”

Mairon grabs him and shoves him underwater, but he doesn’t hold him down.

The demon looks perturbed and wan.

“What? Didn’t like the experience?”   
  


“No, I didn’t.”

“Then don’t do it me.”

The demon nods and makes to move back closer to Mairon, but Mairon stops him with a baleful look.

“Stay there.”

“And if I don’t?” Morgoth asks sharply.

“I’ll make you.”

It’s enough of a threat that the demon stays put while Mairon finishes bathing.

  
  


~~~

  
  


After Mairon is done, he eats his fill of what Morgoth had set out, the demon quietly watching him. AFterwards, he drains the tea, making a face at the bitterness. It’s over steeped and he’s always preferred sweet tea anyway, but he drinks it because he is thirsty.

“Can I have my clothes back?” Mairon asks.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Well now, that ain’t no explanation at all.”

“Yes it is.”

Morgoth is stubbornly looking off to the side with an air of great petulance.

Mairon sighs.

“Fine. I’m done here.”

The demon nods, and he finds that they’re back in the gothic cathedral room.

“Can I have my house back at least?”

Morgoth faces away from him moodily and doesn’t react.

Mairon throws a pillow at him.

“No.” Morgoth says.

“I don’t care.  _ Undo it _ .”

Morgoth whips around to face him, looking shocked as the scenery melts away to deposit them in Mairon’s living room.

“What did you do?” Morgoth hisses.

“You are surprisingly open for a demon.” Mairon replies.

“You shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem and not a ‘me’ problem.” Mairon says, and heads up to his room to get dressed.


	8. pspspspsps

When Mairon comes back, Morgoth has vanished and all the doors have no handles. Mairon sighs, fixes himself a mug of coffee, and starts to look for the demon, sipping away at his coffee all the while.

He finds himself back in the living room again, no closer to finding the annoying  stray cat demon he seems to have acquired. 

With a shrug, Mairon heads up to his bedroom to check out his yarn stash and see about starting up a new project.

As he enters his bedroom, a shadow scurries under the bed.

“Are you hiding under my bed?” He asks, amused and surprised.

There’s a pause, and then the demon outs himself by responding, clearly from under the bed.

“No.”

“Mmm ‘kay.” 

Mairon goes to his closet and starts figuring out a new project. The yarn that Morgoth got him has been haphazardly chucked on top, ruining the organizational system he had going, so Mairon takes it out and starts rearranging.

That takes the better part of the morning.

  
  


~~~

  
  


Since it is now about lunch time and since Mairon is hungry, he fixes himself lunch. He would’ve made lunch for Morgoth as well, but then he saw the bag of cat food out the corner of his eye and had an idea that made him laugh.

He checks the expiration date, and finds that it’s still good. Mairon remembers that old senior kitty he adopted from the shelter and named Telvildo. Black, indolent, aloof, he’d always acted with a certain air of arrogance. Mairon loved him, and he’d buried him out back when he’d passed away peacefully in his sleep.

He digs out the old food and water bowls and washes them off, fills them, and grabs a little towel, and takes all of this up to his room and places them in clear view of Morgoth, who is still petulantly under the bed.

“Pspsps Morgoth, I’ve brought food.”

Morgoth stares.

“Am I a joke to you?”

“No, you’re a cat to me.”

Morgoth growls.

“Pspspsps.” Mairon teases, doing the little finger-rubbing thing that he normally uses to entice a cat to come closer so he could pet it.

Morgoth pouts.

“What could I give that would convince you to turn into a cat?” Mairon asks, laughing but nevertheless genuinely curious.

Morgoth frowns and shifts to hide his face.

“I’m uncomfortable with this.”

Mairon’s laugh at that is considerably harsher.

“So was I when you bit my fucking neck and licked my tears.”

Morgoth says nothing.

Mairon laughs mockingly.

“Cowardly, I see. But what more could I expect?”

Mairon goes back to his stash and returns to wondering what he could make.

He decides that he’ll make a square blanket with a black cat on it just to spite Morgoth.

Grabbing the necessary yarns, figuring he could convince Morgoth to get him more, probably even of the same dye-lot, if it wasn’t enough.

  
  


~~~

  
  


Once afternoon had melted into evening, Mairon having reached the row where he would start the cat’s feet, Melkor slides out from under the bed to lay along it, pressing up against Mairon’s leg.

“What’re you making?” He asks.

“A blanket.” Mairon replies.

“Ooo what for?”

Mairon shrugs.

“For you.”

Melkor proceeds to invade Mairon’s lap by stretching his arms across Mairon’s legs and resting his head across them.

“What’s it gonna be like?” Melkor asks, sounding excited.

“Well, it’s going to be a black cat on this mottled sort of grey background.” Mairon tells him.

Melkor hisses and slides back under the bed.

“If you’re going to behave like a cat, can you really blame me for getting a laugh out of it?” Mairon asks him gently. “I’m still not over you transforming my house, stealing my clothes, threatening my friends, invading my home, biting me, and licking me.”

Morgoth pokes his head up, teeth bared.

“I’m a demon; it’s in my nature. Can you really hold it against me?”

“I was always taught that demons were fallen angels who turned away from God. You made yourself this way.”

“You know nothing.” Morgoth snarls.

Mairon shrugs and pets his head, the only part he could reach.

Morgoth sinks down to avoid it.

Mairon does the little finger-rubbing gesture again.

“Pspspsps.” 

The demon slides under his bed, infuriated.

Mairon’s probably going to pay for this.

He doesn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pspspspsps


	9. negotiations

After having dinner, Mairon goes to work on the blanket, wondering about what he could do to influence or even force, if necessary, Morgoth to follow his commands. 

Unfortunately, the internet where he lives has never been good, and he doesn’t own any books about demons. Not, of course, that such things would definitely be useful to him, but the having of them would have been nice. They could’ve given him a head-start or something.

Nevertheless, Mairon likes to think he’s a resourceful guy.

Morgoth, who had been lying stretched out on the floor decides to come and lean against Mairon again, nuzzling against his leg like a cat. Mairon pets him, which makes the demon pleased, if the contented sigh is anything to go by.

“When you act like this, can you really blame me for the cat connections?” Mairon asks. He can feel Morgoth tense.

“I’m not an animal.”

Mairon laughs.

“Oh, we’re all animals.”

He places a hand on Morgoth’s neck, pressing down slightly.

The demon hisses. Mairon shifts his hand to the demon’s head and gently pets him.

It’s surprisingly painless when the demon bites at him, sinking teeth briefly into the side of Mairon’s hand.

“How rude of you.” Mairon remarks, lifting his hand to gaze at it. He turns it, wondering if Morgoth had some flavour of poison in his bite. It looks pretty much like he’d been bitten. No weirdness, just pointy sharp teeth marks.

“Are you going to do something about it?” Morgoth challenges.

“Perhaps.” Mairon says. He regards the demon with a sort of fascination, suddenly reminded of Eonwe, who said angels talked to him when they were in highschool. He thought Mairon could see and hear them too, but Mairon just never had the heart to tell him that he thought Eonwe was just imagining things.

Now he wonders if Eonwe hadn’t been dreaming.

He offers the demon his hand.

“If you fix what you’ve done, maybe I’ll forgive you.” Mairon says, trying to recall the angel Eonwe said spoke to him. He remembers the name beginning with an ‘m’.

Morgoth pouts, but nevertheless grasps Mairon’s wrist and licks at the bitemarks. Mairon watches, transfixed, as the wounds disappear, momentarily losing his train of thought. It’s such a strange sight that Mairon doesn’t really notice the weird, raspy cat-tongue feeling of being licked by Morgoth.

When he’s done, Mairon is surprised to see his hand is right as rain, with nary a red mark to show he’d been bitten.

“Do you know of any angels that have names beginning with the letter ‘m’?” Mairon asks, recalling his earlier train of thought.

Morgoth hisses and flings himself around Mairon.

“Who’s been whispering in your ears?” He snarls.

“I had a friend who said an angel talked to him when I was younger.” Mairon informs the demon, his voice muffled from the fact that he’s currently squished into the demon’s chest.

“Disgusting.” Morgoth says. “Absolutely disgusting.”

“Look, just tell me of any angels that have names beginning with ‘m’.” Mairon says, persistent. “I’ll know it when I hear it, I’m sure.”

“I know who it was and I hate him.” Morgoth snapped. “He’s always such a fucking pain. I won’t let him take you from me, not himself, nor the poor fool dumb enough to become his vessel.”

“Vessel?” 

Mairon pushes the demon back a bit, just to be able to see his face. Morgoth looks perturbed, on the verge of seeming shell-shocked.

“To reside in, usually in exchange for something.” Morgoth says distantly. “I just want to be happy and not alone and he still doesn’t let me be.”

“You’re paranoid. I doubt he knew you would randomly decide to torment me.” Mairon replies dismissively.

Morgoth looks at him, gaze strangely distant.

“He always knows. I’m surprised he’s not here already.”

He grasps Mairon’s shoulders, his eyes coming to meet Mairon’s, a strange fire burning in the icy wasteland of his eyes.

“Let me claim you.”

“No.”

Mairon’s reply is automatic.

Morgoth snarls.

“It would be better if you let me.” Morgoth tries, his voice softening. “Please, Mairon, please. It will be pleasurable, fulfilling. I can be good for you if you’d let me. Please, just let me try.”

“No, Morgoth.” Mairon rejects him again.

A sort of power hovers in the room. Instinctually, Mairon knows that Morgoth’s third try will be an all or nothing gambit.

Everything on Mairon’s bed falls off as the demon bodily shoves Mairon down, laying on top of him, arms braced on either side of Mairon’s head.

“Whether or not you say no or yes, I will have you.” Morgoth snaps. 

Mairon glares.

“Then what’s the point in me consenting if it won’t change anything?”

“Pain.” Morgoth says bluntly.

“Oh, will you let me hurt you?” Mairon asks. “I could be persuaded. I’ve always been curious about that sort of thing. And you’re a demon. I doubt I’m capable of killing you.”

“No, I meant your pain.” Morgoth corrects.

Mairon laughs.

“A pity then. You had me interested for a moment there.”

Morgoth hisses, but then recollects himself.

“What do you want, then? What, fairest, would interest you?” 

“Well, for starters, I’d like to be able to say your name in full.” Mairon begins, only to have the demon try and interrupt him. Mairon shushes him.

“Let me finish.” He says sweetly. “Now, I’d also like for you to not impede my day-to-day business, and to be actually useful to me.”

At that, Melkor turns his face to the side and laughs secretly. Bemused, Mairon pulls Melkor back to face him.

“I want to see you smile.” Mairon chides. “It makes you easier to like.”

Melkor smiles.

“Giving me tips on how to charm you?”

At that, Mairon laughs as well.

“You certainly seem to be here to stay.”

“Oh, my precious, I do intend to.” Melkor purrs. “Now, how about a real contract?”

“How about a trial period? I won’t call my friend, and you’ll show me what having you on call is like. In essence, we’ll have a temporary deal.”

Melkor takes a moment to think about it.

“I’ve never done that before.” He says thoughtfully. “Why not? I’ll offer a week.”

“A week sounds fine. Is it a deal?” Mairon asks.

Melkor regards him with a sort of fascinated intensity.

“It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl i stepped back from this to figure out how it would end and boy howdy i've done gone and did a one-eighty it seems from my original thinking


	10. trial period

After his little deal with the devil, Mairon realizes that this is a golden opportunity to own the cat potentials of Melkor while it lasts.

“Does part of my deal involve you turning into a cat?” Mairon asks.

Melkor had since rolled off Mairon and let him sit up, and then gotten cozy and sleepy in Mairon’s lap, but that particular question woke him up.

“Technically yes.” He says, questioning.

“So, will you turn into a cat for me?”

“No.”

“Please?” Mairon begs. “You’ll be easier to hug.”

Melkor undergoes a moment where his dignity and desire to be held war with each other, but ultimately his desire to be held wins out, and Mairon gets his wish in the form of a mountain lion.

“I was expecting something smaller.” Mairon remarks, dropping his knitting to hug Melkor instead. Melkor’s ears cocked back.

“When I change shapes, I can only change my form, not my actual body. So if I was to walk on snow or sandor something like that, it’d reveal that I’m not really a cat. Mountain lions weigh about one hundred and twenty pounds, so it’d be less surprising than if I’d turned into a housecat.”

“That sort of makes sense. But that doesn’t explain how only weight and footprints remain the same. You’re clearly a cat, twitching tail, flicking ears, soft fur, the whole nine yards.”

Melkor twists himself around and licksMairon’s face.

“I don’t know how it works, it just does.” He replies. Mairon chuckles and continues to hold the demon.

Eventually, he goes to bed with Melkor curled up against him.

  
  


~~~

  
  


The next day, Mairon sleeps well into the day since he’d be heading in to work. He showers, dresses, and heads downstairs to prepare food for lunch and whatever sort of dinner break he had in the middle of his shift.

As Mairon gets his coffee going, Melkor speaks.

“I felt something angelic moving around. Be careful.”

Mairon frowns.

“Not coming with me?”

“No. You already have some of my energy bound to you. It’d be unwise for me to go with you. I’ll probably check around the town while you’re out though. Sometimes I mistake large gatherings of prayer as angelic energy.”

Mairon shrugs.

“All right then. Be careful.”

  
  
  


~~~

  
  
  


Mairon’s heading out from his job to his car to head home when he sees it. 

Well, he, really, but the being is something similar to Melkor, only instead of terrifying, it's awful. Mairon is frozen from the sheer magnitude of this being as he walks towards him.

The being wears a long, white coat and a sky blue shirt. His boots seem like the type to click on the hard pavement, and yet instead of sharp clicks, Mairon’s hears the sort of tippy-tappy steps a bird has. His skin is the sort of golden bronze that only makes the pale blind of his hair and the sharp cobalt blue of his eyes stand out.

“Be not afraid, mortal.” He says, “I have come as a friend.”

The angel steps closer places his hand over Mairon’s forehead, and leaves as though he had never come, save for the bird feet cut into the pavement that slowly faded as though too divine for mortal earth to hold.

Mairon’s hands shake as he fumbles with the keys to his car, starts it, and gets in.

He clenches his hands tightly, then shakes them out to try and calm down.

When Mairon drives home, the rules don’t matter anymore. Nothing dares; all the folks hiding in the woods know something is happening.

  
  


~~~

  
  


Mairon pulls into his driveway and everything is normal and fine. The door is already unlocked, which has Mairon reaching for his pocket-knife, just in case.

No one is there. Yet.

Mairon cautiously heads into his kitchen to deposit his briefcase and is greeted by Eonwe, his old, dear friend, golden-haired, blue eyes all a twinkle. He’s tanned, or tanner than Mairon remembers, but the shock of seeing him is great enough to Mairon puts a hand against the wall to brace himself.

“Eonwe. It’s been a long time.” Mairon says quitely.

Eonwe smiles, a knowing sort of friendly, warm smile.

“It has been, hasn’t it?” Eonwe replies. “I’m glad to let you know that I’ve dealt with the thing here. I hope it hasn’t hurt you too much. I came as soon as Manwe could get me here.”

‘I’m fine.” Mairon says automatically. “Is there anything you’d like to drink? Water? Tea?”

As though mere mention of his name had set into work a summons, Manwe appeared in the chair next to Eonwe.

Disturbingly, he had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, and his forearms were covered in a sort of black ichor.

“Oh, Manwe, are you alright?” Eonwe asks the angel. Manwe shook his head.

“I am fine. However, I think we should let your friend be. He’s no doubt had a trying few days.”

Eonwe sighes self-deprecatingly.

“Of course, Manwe.” he says, pulling out a notepad from somewhere and writing something down before tearing the page out. 

Mairon watches in stone silence as Eonwe waves goodbye and Manwe grabs his arm and they simply disappear as abruptly as they had entered.

So Mairon picks up the paper and finds that it’s Eonwe’s phone number.

He clenches his fist on reflex, crumpling the little thing.

After that, he steps outside and goes to his normal spot for burning things, and starts a fire. Mairon chucks the paper in and stares at the flames.

Then, he puts out his little fire, and heads back inside to pack a backpack with some important necessities.

He’s got a demon to go a’hunting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've an idea of where i'd like this to go so its time for me to binge write


	11. hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have some specific warnings for this chapter in the end notes, just in case

Mairon stuffs a blanket, some food, three bottles of water, a compass, his phone, a flashlight, and spare batteries into the backpack and sets out.

The rosy fingers of dawn have begun to trace along the horizon, the dark of night beginning her habitual change into the light of day.

He circles his house first, looking for signs, finding them the shape of large pawprints sinking into the earth, too sinful to sit on mortal ground. Mairon follows them eagerly, afraid of what he could find.

The woods seemed to part for him, the normal residents having cleared the area, despite their eagerness to have foreigners out of their woods. Of course, the normal residents know him, know his family. Perhaps that also is why the trees step aside to show him a path.

As he pushes through the woods, the air chills unnaturally, until he stumbles over a tree root and has to stop. Mairon leans against an old oak, the bark oddly frigid.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and scan his surroundings. He remembers this forest; he spent most of childhood here, with his siblings and his cousins and sometimes the neighbors, depending on who was willing to walk the long walk, shooting and throwing firecrackers and building forts.

The pale, clear light of dawn reveals more of the same dark ichor that had been on Manwe’s hands. Determined, Mairon keeps going, following the steadily growing trail of the demon’s blood until he reaches a massive oak tree.

Melkor has been nailed to it, in a garish mockery of a crucifixion, his head hanging limp, eyes closed, his true form revealed. A set of dronic horns, jet black and tipped in pale silver, curl gracefully, rising out of Melkor’s dark hair, which hangs limply in front of his face, and leathery bat’s wings hung in a position that must have been torture on Melkor’s back.

Mairon rushes forward to him, horrified. He’s not sure how he’ll get Melkor down, but at the moment, that’s unimportant. He drops his bag a few feet away from the base of the tree and stands before Melkor, trying to figure out how to get him down.

On closer inspection, the nails were actually spikes, and Mairon realizes that he could probably pull them out.

“Mairon?” Melkor says, voice barely rising above a raspy whisper. 

“I was worried.” Mairon said. “I’m pretty sure pulling the spikes out will hurt, but I’m going to try anyway.”

The most difficult thing about getting Melkor down was that the spikes were slick with demon blood, and Mairon was having trouble getting a proper grip. Nevertheless, with time and effort, Mairon manages to pull out the spike through Melkor’s feet.

He drops it, and it hits the earth with a muffled thump. Mairon shoves his backpack beneath Melkor, realizing it would be incredibly painful for him to have all his weight supported through his palms.

The next two spikes came out surprisingly quickly, and Melkor fell onto Mairon.

Mairon grimaces; the demon is lighter than he recalls, yet still manages to sink down towards the earth.

It takes a fair bit of finagling, but Mairon manages to grab his bag and pick up Melkor. Then, as quickly as he is able, Mairon heads home, trying to think of what he could possibly do.

~~~

When Mairon gets home, the first thing he does is draw a bath so that he can clean Melkor, because the demon is filthy.

As the dirt and blood comes away, Mairon can only watch in shock as wounds simply vanish, and Melkor seems to grow into perfect health before his eyes. It’s jarring and strange, and by the time Mairon is done bathing him, Melkor has even become more alert, though only by a slight margin.

“I’m cold.” Melkor complains as Mairon lifts him out of the bath and dries him off.

Mairon sighs, then carries Melkor to his bed and tucks him in.

Melkor falls asleep quickly. Mairon hopes that isn’t a bad sign.

Then, with the morning sun peeking through drawn curtains, Mairon sits down, grabs his knitting, and keeps working, a fretful eye on Melkor.

~~~

Melkor sleeps past lunch. At some point, he began to shiver, so Mairon added a few more blankets hoping that would make Melkor more comfortable, but to no avail.

Mairon yawns and figures that Melkor wouldn’t mind if Mairon crawled into bed with him to sleep. Melkor responds by curling into Mairon, prompting Mairon to wrap his arms around the demon and hold him.

Melkor makes an almost content sort of noise, then falls into a deeper sleep once more. It takes longer for Mairon to fall asleep though.

In the moment, he had been so wrapped up in what he needed to do, but now, unoccupied, trying to sleep, Mairon can’t stop replaying yesterday in his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder if he could’ve done something. 

His mind didn’t care that Manwe was an angel, or that he could’ve been harmed for his association with the demon. He doubts that Eonwe and Manwe thought he cared for Melkor.

Mairon frowns, grateful that Melkor is here, even if he’s asleep. Melkor isn’t gone, or still in the woods, or any number of terrible things his mind teases at him with.

What happened was bad enough. Mairon wishes his mind would stop teasing him, stop offering up more and more variations, stop showing him Melkor aware in his agony, voice raised in perfect, delightful shock as Mairon binds him, ropes framing lean musculature, caught in the ecstasy brought when pleasure and pain blurred. Mairon would… 

Mairon gets up and heads into the kitchen to get a glass of water and to sleep on the couch, feeling ashamed that that was what his mind went to. 

He knows that what he thought of was highly inappropriate, even if he also knows what, exactly, he likes. His entire life, he had never really fantasized about someone in his life like that; to have it happen now didn’t just shame him, but also unnerved him.

Once Mairon finishes his water, he goes and curls up on the couch and sleeps.

It’s fitful, unfulling, and filled with unnerving images, but when he wakes, Mairon is only left with a sense of shame at his own desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: non-graphic crucifixion, character is ashamed of sexual fantasy/desire


	12. morning

Mairon wakes up earlier than he normally would, a sense of dread curling up within him. On a hunch, Mairon heads to his bedroom to check on Melkor.

Mairon opens his bedroom door to Melkor lying awake in bed, facing the door. He looks upset, brows furrowed, lips downturned.

“Where were you?” He asks, plaintive.

“I was in the living room, sleeping.” Mairon answers, going to take a seat on the bed. He drapes an arms over Melkor. “Do you want anything?”

“Stay.” Melkor responds, reaching out to him.

“Of course.” Mairon replies. Melkor’s mouth is drawn into a tight line, the hand that grasps Mairon shaking in small, almost unnoticeable tremors. 

Mairon takes Melkor’s hand in his, soothing over burn scars, tracing the lines in slow, steady motions.

Melkor seemed surprised at that.

Mairon could tell the scarring was severe, as though Melkor had grabbed and held onto some sort of burning object and not let go.

It piques his curiosity, in a way, the scars. 

“How did you get these?” Mairon asks.

Melkor shakes his head no, looking at the way Mairon held his hands with a measure of pensiveness. Mairon, seeing this, tries to release Melkor, yet Melkor insistently kept his hands in Mairon’s.

Eventually, after a moment where the only sound was that of their own breathing, Melkor spoke.

“Stay.” He says, refusing to look at Mairon.

Mairon swallows, his throat feeling strangely tight.

“Of course.” He says again, because he has nothing else he can say. “Of course I’ll stay.”

Melkor shifts his hands to grasp at Mairon, pulling him closer.

“I’m cold.” He says.

“I think I have some spare blankets lying around.” Mairon tells him, mostly confident he remembers where said blankets are.

“No.”

Melkor pulls at Mairon weakly but insistently.

“Stay.”

Mairon sighs affectionately.

“I’m going to crawl into bed then, if you’re so insistent. All this stooping over will hurt my back.”

Perhaps Melkor’s main motivation was getting Mairon to lay down beside him, if the way Melkor immediately enmeshes himself with Mairon is anything to go by.

“How are you feeling?” Mairon asks.

Melkor worms further into Mairon’s chest.

“Fine. I’m feeling perfectly fine.” Melkor says coldly, his voice slightly muffled, as though he hadn’t practically begged Mairon to stay. “I’m feeling absolutely fucking fine.”

Mairon only holds Melkor closer.

“I was very scared, last night, Melkor.” he says softly. “I… I am still a touch scared, even now.”

Melkor growls, a rumbling sound that Mairon can feel.

“When I get better, I’m going to find him and… I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll do something.” Melkor swears, voice low and full of frigid wrath.

“When you’re better?” Mairon asks, ignoring those foreboding words, unable to keep his voice from rising. “What is that supposed to mean? That you’re ill? That you’re injured?”

“It’s nothing.” Melkor responds, tone brokering no room for argument.

Not that Mairon cares at the moment.

“No it’s not!” Mairon snaps. “What if you don’t get better? What if those two come back? Indulge me in this, because I am the one who will have to deal with it if you don’t recover from whatever ails you.”

Melkor is silent; he grips Mairon tighter, fingers digging into Mairon’s skin in a way that Mairon is sure will bruise.

“Like most non-angelic beings, I do not react… well… to holy water.” Melkor says carefully, each word delivered with a soft precision, much like how a cat picks its way through unfamiliar ground. “Much less the… ingestion of it.”

Mairon needs a moment to process.

“They made you drink holy water?” 

“If they hadn’t, they would not have been able to subdue me.” Melkor says flatly. “That being said, I have never had so much of it in my system before. I do not know what will happen.”

Mairon has barely had Melkor in his life, but already he didn’t want to lose him. It’s nice to not be alone in the family home, hours away from civilization; it’s nice to have someone there to be close with, even if they had started off rather messily.

Mairon isn’t completely sure, but he thinks he is beginning to actually like Melkor.

“I really hope you recover then.” Mairon says quietly, into Melkor’s hair. “Because I think that would be quite upsetting for the both of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm quite annoyed that the chapters are shorter than I normally do, but at the same time there's not much I have to put into them at the moment. it's all rather annoying.


	13. melting

Melkor wakes up cold and alone and figures that at some point, he had fallen asleep and that Mairon, being only human after all, had needed to do some things necessary for his own upkeep.

Rather disconcertingly, Melkor is nauseous. He gags, feels the shabby body he’s put together scrape and jar against itself, yet nothing comes out, and he feels worse.

His demonic nature is attempting to reject the divinity in the water. Normally, the little flicks of holy water blessed by a priest were ineffective. Most priests were, after all, not directly touched by the heavens. Water blessed by a saint was worse. 

Vessels of angels could make it hurt, but even that had been nothing compared to water blessed by an actual angel.

He’s still surprised that he still has skin after the way that burned.

But he’s fine, pretty much. Once he finally stops shaking. 

On a whim, he tries to get out of bed and the nausea returns full force.

Objectively, he knows that the nausea is his body trying to expunge the water; it’s too pure to subsume into him as energy and so antithetical to his nature that it causes harm, so it has to be expelled. Irrationally, however, he doesn’t want to just vomit up holy water on Mairon’s bed. Melkor understands it's a bit late to suddenly start being a good guest, but he’ll chalk it up to officially being contracted, if only temporarily.

With a hand firmly over his mouth, Melkor staggers to the bathroom, drawing on his knowledge of the layout of the house from the time he transformed it. He could tell it was old from all the memories. It was the sort of house that would be haunted, yet he could tell no trace of ghostly manipulations in the building. Perhaps the spirits tied to this place would only rouse themselves when strangers lived in the house, which Melkor finds somewhat odd, being that America is a nation built over the nations, built on a foundation of graves.

As Melkor vomits holy water into Mairon’s toilet, he freely admits that he was only thinking of the ghosts to distract himself from how that awful water burned coming back up.

He stays hunched over the toilet for longer than is strictly necessary, eyes closed, blanking out. Melkor would hate for Mairon to see him this way; he’s a demon with an image to uphold, all cat transformations aside, but he’s just too tired to move right now, and he thinks he still may need to vomit soon anyway.

Eventually, he hears raised voices floating upstairs. He picks out Mairon’s voice immediately, his accent as strong as the time Melkor thought it would be a good idea to deprive him of food and water.

In contrast, the other person takes him much longer to identify, but he eventually realises that it’s Eonwe. He sounds as though his anger is coming from concern. Melkor does not begrudge him that, although he is quite bitter about their previous, and first, encounter.

Melkor drags himself up and tries to transform into something threatening, like a gorgon, dragon, or even a black mist.

He fails and resigns himself to navigating the ancient, creaky stairs of Mairon’s home, clutching the handrail for dear life. It’s an infuriating, humiliating experience, only somewhat soothed by the fact that both men are yelling too loudly for the ungodly screaming of the stairsteps to announce his presence.

Although he has to lean on furniture for support, he eventually comes to the front door. Mairon’s back is to the interior of the house, while Eonwe stands on the porch. Because of this, Eonwe sees him first, and visibly recoils. Melkor cannot tell if this is because he looks like absolute shit or if this is because Eonwe just hates demons. 

Mairon turns to see what Eonwe had pointed at. Even as he moves to help Melkor stand, he sends a spiteful, vengeful look over his shoulder to Eonwe, who’s expression Melkor cannot read.

“Jesus wept, Mairon, I didn’t know he’d  _ survive. _ ” Eonwe whispers.

“Jesus can weep all he fucking wants, Eonwe, you and him both.” Mairon replies. Melkor would be embarrassed, but it was exhausting to come all the way to the front door, so instead he rests his head on Mairon’s shoulder, blocking out all sight.

The conversation continues, but more subdued, less wrathful.

“I’ll talk to Manwe. I can’t call myself an agent of what is holy and have done this.” Eonwe says, sounding regretful. “I can’t change what I did, but I realize that I was too hasty when I acted.”

“Well you sure changed your mind fast.” Mairon says flatly. “And how am I to know you’re sincere?”

Eonwe sighs.

“I don’t know.” he tells Mairon. “But I have a conscience. I should use it more. I’ll call you after I talk to Manwe. If he wants to help, great. If he doesn’t, well, I’ve known you longer than I’ve known him.”

Melkor feels the brush of Mairon’s hair against his own as Mairon nods.

“If I don’t hear back from you in a week, well…” Mairon leaves the thought unfinished, but Melkor thinks it may just be a threat, a reminder that for all Eonwe’s sudden change of heart, Mairon is still a person slow to forgive, and even slower to forget. 

Melkor supposes that Eonwe acknowledges this non-verbally, because then the front door is shut, and Mairon helps him walk further into the house before laying him down on the living room couch. Melkor makes a noise of discontent as Mairon lets go of him to pace around this living room.

Distractedly, Mairon brushes his hair from his face and goes to pace back and forth in front of the couch.

“I threw up a decent amount of the holy water.” Melkor says. “But I still do feel somewhat ill.” 

While this is not false, this is not entirely true. Now that Melkor does not have anything else to focus on, his nausea returns in full force.

“I’ll get a bucket.” Mairon says. “Stay here.”

Melkor watches as Mairon leaves, heading outside from the sound of the back door being opened and shut, most likely because while Mairon owns a bucket, he probably either doesn’t use it often or has no use for it in the house.

As he’s waiting for Mairon to come back, Melkor remembers the last words his brother ever spoke to him.

It had been during the Fall, Melkor remembered. It was a vague memory, being unfathomably old, but there were still pieces of it that stood out in stark relief against a background blur of pandemonium and blood and war cries. Of those pieces, the most distinct part was when he, unable to stand, looked up at Manwe, pleading and begging for mercy.

His brother had only said ‘I’m sorry, Melkor’ before he kicked him out of the heavens and he and all the rebel angels with him fell, first through space, then sky, then earth, until they could fall no more.

Melkor is startled from his memories by the soft clank of an old metal bucket in front of it. Without preamble, Melkor moves his hair out of his face and vomits up more holy water.

“How much did you drink?” Mairon asks softly. Melkor shrugged.

“Less than this.” he admits. “I think it may be melting my body.”

“How?” Mairon asks, sounding surprisingly calm.

“I made my body with infernal ice. Very cold, very hard to melt.” Melkor explains. “However, holy water is inherently… fiery? It’s hard to explain, but it melts the ice, which then mixes with the holy water to make more holy water. My body tries to reject it, hence the vomiting, but the melting degrades the body’s functionality, meaning each time I can get rid of less and less.”

Mairon says nothing, but softly begins to stroke Melkor’s head.

“You’re going to die.” he breathes. 

“No, I’ll just have to shed my body while I regenerate the ice.” Melkor corrects. Mairon hisses.

“You’ll essentially die.” he says. “God damn it all to hell.”

Melkor shrugs and vomits up more water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look guys i'm back this isn't dead. i also completely forgot where this story was going, so bear with me for a bit while I try and find that again.


	14. decay

As the day passed, Melkor got worse. Mairon spent most of his time sitting with Melkor as he continued to knit the cat blanket, watching as Melkor grew wan and lethargic. When the sun began to set, Mairon had dinner, and he moved Melkor back upstairs. In only the span of a few hours, Melkor had gone from a distinct weight when he’d leaned against him to being easily carried. Mairon worries.

He can’t not.

And though Melkor melts, it is the cold that the demon complains of, incessant in his desire to leech warmth from Mairon.

Mairon looks at Melkor, pitifully curled up on the couch, his skin faintly translucent, cold and damp to the touch. 

Gently, Mairon brushes the demon’s hair from his face, hand lingering despite the cold. He doesn’t know why.

A sharp knock on the door startles him, causing him to shoot to his feet on reflex.

“Eonwe?” Mairon calls, unsure of who else would be at the door. He takes a step to head to the door when Melkor grasps his hand. Mairon’s skin feels as though it is burning from the touch.

“What is it, Melkor?” Mairon asks. 

“Wait.” Melkor rasps. “He’s not alone.” As the demon speaks, a thin droplet of water runs from his mouth. Mairon fastidiously wipes it away.

“Mairon?” Eonwe calls. “I’ve brought Manwe. He wants to help.”

At the mention of his brother, Melkor hisses.

“I know he’s the reason we’re in this mess, but what are the chances Eonwe would lie?” Mairon asks Melkor, voice soft but sharp. “Because if you don’t want me to let them in, I won’t. But if I don’t let them in, you will surely die for it.”

Melkor manages a weak laugh.

“As opposed to surely dying at my brother’s hands?”

Mairon frowns.

“If Eonwe didn’t know what drinking holy water would do to you, what makes you think Manwe would have known? I doubt there have been experiments.”

Melkor attempts some sort of threatening noise, but rather than make Mairon feel unsafe, Mairon instead feels that he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. He knows that he doesn’t want to go against Melkor’s wishes, but to have any chance of helping him, Mairon would have to. 

“Melkor, please. It hurts me to see you like this.” Mairon says quietly. “Give your brother a chance. You’re already dying anyway.”

“Like he would care.” Melkor scoffs. “He did this to me!”

Mairon doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do.

“Melkor…” he sighs, wringing his hands. “Don’t make me choose between your life and your wishes, because I ain’t sure how I could ever live with making that choice.”

“Then don’t choose.” Melkor says, eyes slipping shut, resigned in a sort of cold, bitter way to what Mairon supposes he thinks is inevitable.

Mairon laughs, defeated, exhausted.

“That is a choice, you bastard.” he says, voice rising in a sort of hysteric madness. “It’s the choice where you die.”

Their conversation is interrupted by another loud bang on Mairon’s door, the poor old door barely staying on its hinges.

“Mairon, for the love of god, we mean no harm! Please, we just want to try and fix what we did.” Eonwe begs. 

Melkor’s mouth is set in an angry line, and his posture, despite the fact that he was laying down, is tense and unyielding. 

Then, they’re both silent, so silent that the drop of a pin could be heard.

“I don’t trust him.” Melkor says, right as Mairon says “I trust him.”

After that, there is silence again, both unsure of what to say, knowing the other had an opposing understanding of the situation. 

“Melkor, I’ve never known Eonwe to lie.” Mairon tries.

Melkor simply sighs.

“It’s not him I don’t trust.” Melkor says. “I believe you when you say you trust Eonwe; it’s not like he’s a threat to me.”

“You’re worried about your brother.” Mairon concludes. “Is he the type to keep his promises, your brother?”

“Yes. Why?” asks Melkor, sounding confused.

“If I get him to promise that there will be no harm done under my roof, will you allow him to see you?” Mairon asks.

Melkor’s eyes open to glare at Mairon in a way that betrays the demon's exhaustion. Marion meets his gaze unflinchingly.

“Fine.” melkor says, spitting the word out of his mouth with such venom one would be forgiven for thinking the word itself was rotten.

Mairon sighs in relief and goes to let Manwe and Eonwe in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it seems to have been literal ages, but I would hate to leave the story unfinished, so I'm going to try and finish it off in a chapter or two max.


	15. liminal

Mairon opens his door to wind and soft light, the kind of light he remembers from honeyed sunrises in spring. Manwe practically knocks Mairon over, although Eonwe caught him by the arm, helping Mairon keep his feet in the face of Manwe hurtling through his house directly to his brother.

There is a chime of bells, like tinnitus almost, although Mairon knows it isn’t on a base, instinctual level, in the way he knows that water satiates thirst.

Mairon leads Eonwe to Melkor, where Manwe kneels on the floor beside him, many-eyed, aflame, a spinning wheel, at least when Mairon looks at him from the corner of his eyes. Mairon’s not quite sure how to describe the way Manwe’s form changes to one similar to Melkor, save for the glow under his skin and different emotions that shaped his body.

Melkor turns his head to look at Mairon with resignation in his eyes, although the set of his face in whole conveys a baleful disappointment, although who he is disappointed in Mairon cannot divine.

“Apparently the cut-off point for fixing this mess was yesterday.” Melkor drawled, managing to sound almost amused.

Mairon feels his throat close.

“I suppose we won’t be seeing each other again.” Mairon says.

“Not quite.” Manwe interjects. “He’ll just have to shed his body for a while. How long that may be I cannot divine.”

“I see.” Mairon says. “But that doesn’t change anything. A while could be weeks, months, years, aeons.”

Although Mairon does not state it, he is well aware that in the time it could theoretically take Melkor to recover, he could be dead. At the end of it all, there’s no guarantee that Mairon will be able to experience Melkor’s admittedly strange, yet unfamiliar company, again.

“Years, I expect, but not aeons.” Manwe says, in what Mairon guesses is meant to be a reassuring manner. “I can do that much, at least. I never meant for this to happen.”

Mairon can’t help the bitterness that swelled in him at that.

“You did it anyway.”

Manwe does not even look at him, and though Eonwe tries to place a reassuring hand on Mairon’s shoulder, Mairon shrugs his hand away brusquely.

“I know.” is all Manwe says in reply, choosing to focus on his brother.

“Do what you said you would, then, brother.” Melkor snaps. “Do what you said and be done with it. I’m tired of all this bullshit anyway.”

Melkor’s interruption ends the exchange between Mairon and Manwe, and afterwards, Mairon does not remember what, exactly, happened between the two brothers, save for Melkor’s bitter words and Manwe’s pleas for forgiveness falling on deaf ears.

  
  


~~~

  
  


_ Manwe allowed light to fall onto Melkor before Mairon’s very eyes, a divine light that seemed painful and soothing all at once. Mairon could not help but squeeze his eyes shut at the sight of it, and neither could Eonwe. _

__ _ It seemed cheap, almost, for when Manwe was done, he held cradled in his hands a dark, fiery liquid that drew all heat in the room into itself, and when Manwe gently poured the strange liquid into Mairon’s hands, it was pleasantly cool to the touch. _

__ _ “What have you done.” Mairon said. “How has this helped anything?” _

__ _ “I pulled Melkor from his body to recuperate. The essence of beings like us is formless, conceptual in nature. I do not see him as you do, nor could either of us understand the sight of the other. Soon he will sink down to the Underworld and recover his power, and return, I assume, although it was meant to be his prison. I suppose I shall just tell our father that he’s lost interest in his old schemes.” _

__ _ “Prison? For what?” _

__ _ “Many things. It would take too long to list them all, but the most migraine-inducing was stealing the three divine jewels some learned craftsman made.” _

__ _ Mairon sighed, then looked down at Melkor, who he still held in his cupped palms, then back up to Manwe. _

__ _ “Thank you for your aid, Manwe, and you too Eonwe, I suppose, but I pray to god we never see each other again. Now out with both of you.” _

  
  


~~~

  
  


It took until five years after Melkor left, but eventually Mairon put the cat blanket into the attic. He didn’t need it just yet, neither for the memories or the warmth, for those he remembered just fine on his own.


	16. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not planning to add this, but Yin_n_Yang asked, and, well, it made me think of this so... here we are!

Melkor came back from his recuperation in the fires of hell looking at the burned out shell of a house in the countryside. From his position a good few yards away, on an overgrown dirt road, he supposed the house may have once been a family home, with all the warmth and solidarity a family could have. It just had that sort of aura. 

It had been awhile since he was in the mortal realm, and his departure, as well as the events leading up to it, were fuzzy. Nevertheless, he remembered this place, in the way one remembers something half-forgotten: fuzzy around the edges, warm, sort of dreamlike.

Enthralled, Melkor wandered down the road, bare feet kicking up little plumes of dust, staining the cuffs of his pants. He paid it no mind; in his mind he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone was waiting for him, someone he cared for dearly.

Looking at the house, he saw the flames, the misery, the quiet contemplation. He remembered leaving someone behind, someone he cared for. 

Against all likelihood, he hoped they yet remained. Melkor had taken so long, every second spent not with the person waiting for him agony, every second another second he let them down.

As he approached the house, he saw the man sitting on the porch, lazily toying with a blade of the long, rustling grass, his form shimmering like a mirage in a desert.

He was dead, obviously. Melkor knew what ghosts looked like. But even as a pale shadow of the person that was, the man was beautiful. Fire-red hair, pale skin, brown eyes like amber, things that humans never could enthrall him with, and yet this ghost, this mere lingering shadow, captivated him.

Mairon captivated him. He would never be able to look at any other again, would always have Mairon in the back of his mind, and who else could possibly compare?

When Mairon looked up, Melkor but a few more steps away, the warmth in his eyes upon seeing Melkor was breathtaking, his chest hurting from it, his feet frozen in place.

“You’re finally here.” Mairon breathed. “I’ve been waiting so long.”

His gaze became distant, mournful, nostalgic. There had been a seemingly endless wait, when year dragged into year dragged into year, when hope had seemed too far. 

“So long…” 

“I’m here now.” Melkor said, taking those last few steps forward to kneel before Mairon. “I’m here now, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Mairon cast aside the blade of grass that he had been idling toying with to grab Melkor’s hands, to hold them, to squeeze them tight.

“And if that is forever?”

Melkor leaned forward to kiss Mairon softly, savouring what he hoped was the first of many.

“Then I will be here forever.”


End file.
